A Memoir From the Trenches

Month: April 2007

So I’ve decided that selling one’s home is a special level of hell. Evidently the criteria for being sent to this hell is as simple as planting a “yard arm” and a swinging sign beaming the smiling face of someone who is going to take your first-born, or the financial equivalent.

It’s like frickin’ musical chairs. Only the chair is my house, and I have to keep it white-glove spotless while keeping my children: a) fed, b) happy, c) on something faintly resembling a schedule, or d) all of the above and then some.

Hey! I know a fun way to make this woman go completely off her rocker! Let’s call her several times a day, at random times, and tell her we are dropping by in 20 minutes (or less)! We are bringing friends who might want to give her several hundred thousand dollars if they like how clean and neat her house is- and she can’t be there! Yes, she has three kids five and under, but no toys out, no hand-prints on the wall, no pee pee in the toilets, no face smears on the mirrors, not a pillow out of place, beds perfectly made, no dishes in the sink (EVER!), not a speck or stray sock of laundry to be seen. For even more fun, we are going to look in all her closets, the medicine chest, the built-in’s in the bedrooms, the kitchen cabinets, and even her refrigerator. Are you game?

Sometimes several people can show up at once. And sometimes, we will call and tell her we are on our way, she will pack her kids in the car and then frantically run back inside to vacuum and Clorox-wipe the counters, and then we won’t bother to show up at all. Other times, she will stay out for the requisite 1/2 hour while we look, but right as she comes home, gets the Monkeys unloaded and the baby asleep, we will call and do it all again. Then we do it again. And again.

Sound like fun yet?

Today, I spent over four hours in my car. With. All. Three. Kids. Not all four hours at once, but all four between 10 a.m. and 3 p.m. You do the math. There was an open house, then several calls… I would return from one foray to have another message on my answering machine– they’re “on their way over!” so I have to slog my butt back to the car and tell the kids, once again, we can’t go home.

Right now, we don’t have a home. We’re homeless. We have two houses, neither of which is all the way ours… one, not anymore, and one, not quite yet.

Holy cow. It’s been a year already. My darling little Maybe is now venturing her first tentative steps on pudgy feet and wobbly kankles, eating toast with apple butter and bananas and busily chasing the Monkeys.

In between dodging real estate agents, we are going to have pictures made today, and the Monkeys have chosen a gaudy and elaborate paste crown for her to wear tonight over her bakery-bought cake. Both the boys had the same waxen number 1 candle on their cakes, but that candle is packed in storage, so Abby will have to break tradition and have something different.

Hey! I know what would be really fun!! Let’s put the house on the market, work our butts off to make the place look hot, deal with the Realtors at all hours, live out of suitcases, and then, just for fun, maybe Beanie could get a stomach virus and puke all over me, the house, and the car! Anyone want to join in??

I can’t do this. I just can’t. I’m going insane. I have nothing to say- my entire life is swallowed up by “House” right now, and I can barely keep my kids content, let alone be worried about posting anything even vaguely intelligible.

Consider the Hiatus reinstated. I’m sure I have only 3 people left reading, so to those three of you, thanks; I’ll be back when the house sells.

Ok, I CAN live without a toaster. I can. I can. I can. What I cannot have is crumbs and crispies all over my immaculate kitchen. We’re lookin’ for easy, baby. Looks like we’ll be having a lot of applesauce and yogurt for the next few weeks. Oh, and pizza. Sigh. Of course, my kids will be eating their yogurt inside an aeseptic bubble so nothing spills and sends Mama into the wigging-out stratosphere.

no crumbs… no crumbs… no crumbs! NO CRUMBS!! crumbscrumbscrumbs….

I got four whole hours of sleep last night. Why?

An amalgam of Scooby Doo and Celine Dion is running through my head. Crazy wacky Canadian pipes belting out the Scooby Doo theme mixed with something from Titanic, with some Las Vegas glitter thrown in for good measure.

My eyes are sooooooo red.

I’m off to Home Depot for the umpteeth time this week. It’s my new Target.

We list next Monday. It’s 12:22 in the morning, and I am covered in paint, downstairs scrounging around for some artwork to put over the mantle- and I decided to throw out a quickie post. Who knows when I’ll have another chance… Of all weeks for it to be Spring Break, that’s all I have to say about that.

So far:

Painted the hallway, and over half the living room.

Packed all the china, silver and dishes from the cabinets, as well as all the breakable chatchkas I’ve inherited over the years.

Packed my antique books and all my cookbooks, as well as the a few of the drawers in the kitchen and the stuff from the counter-tops.

All pictures and personal things in the house are packed. We now look like a hotel.

I cleaned both ovens tonight. Yuck. But they sure do look purty!

Replaced the handles on the storm door. They even work!

Nagged my husband several times about his to-do list.

Swapped out the lampshades for better looking, un-dusty ones.

Painted a new sign that says “There’s no place like HOME”- hoping the subtle and subliminal message is not lost on perspective buyers.

Cleaned between the panes of glass in several rooms and pulled the window screens off so the view is crystal clear.

Caulked the bathtub, but scraped it all off because it looked like crap. Meh, what can I say? I’m not good at some things!

Fluffed the drapes in the dryer.

Hung a new, simple wreath on the front door.

Bought the porch paint to re-paint the back steps.

Walked around the neighborhood to look at the two other houses for sale- and feel really good about ours, now.

Tomorrow? I may collapse. No, really, then I get to start on the kids toys and their stuff. Beanie is really squawking about not wanting to leave this house. I think he’ll change his tune when he sees the new place, but I understand- this is the only home he knows, and it’s scary. Jeff is just so excited about having a fenced yard and a swingset, he doesn’t care about anything else.